


Split Ends and Shear Courage

by kinaesthetique



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani, F/F, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Relationship, Trans Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, absolutely useless lesbians, brief description of childhood bullying with transphobic implications, did kina finally manage to write symmercy in-verse FIRST?, hair cuts, hell yeah and howdy hold onto your hats because they're fucking adorable, sweet confessions and date plans, the inherent intimacy of allowing someone to touch brush and cut your hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:27:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25132357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinaesthetique/pseuds/kinaesthetique
Summary: Symmetra had expected Talon to escalate like a cornered animal; she expected casualties on both sides. She knew the personal, global and ethical risks of engaging the multinational, anti-omnic, terrorist organization without restraint.However, this was not an outcome she expected.
Relationships: Satya "Symmetra" Vaswani/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Comments: 6
Kudos: 28





	Split Ends and Shear Courage

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE: i don't like to write explicit or targeted abuse on any level. folks have probably noticed in other works like my autistic satya stuff and my nb fareeha stuff, but i don't write misgendering or slurs or the like into fics, even if i imply that is what happens. what happens in this is on level with satya being bullied in Practical Ghosts where the reasons for being bullied are because satya is autistic, even though no one explicitly admits it.  
>  **In this fic, angela recalls one such moment of childhood bullying that results in a lot of emotional pain. it is mitigated but it could have been handled better from the start by the adults in her life and it was not. angela gets a little bit of revenge too.**
> 
> (in the end notes, i've written the content of this out explicitly if you would prefer to know *exactly* what that Tag is for)
> 
> aside from that, this really is just hurt/comfort with a solid fluff landing! my favorite dumbass lesbians flirting around each other.

The heavy assault units, nicknamed 'heavies' by both the younger Shimada and his cowboy, McCree, were not exactly as Symmetra had expected based on their first-hand accounts.

During the days of Blackwatch, these omnics had hailstorms of bullets at their disposal, wielding machine guns instead of hands.

Right now? They have flamethrowers.

Only moments ago, she’d been fighting alongside the former Blackwatch duo, the excitable shield maiden, Brigitte, and the legendary Mercy herself. That was until a grenade landed in their midst, scattering them in various directions. Only McCree had no way of a quick escape and Symmetra, praying that her personal shields could take the hit, threw up a large barrier between herself and the sharpshooter.

There was no way to tell if it worked. The grenade detonated with more force than she ever expected from a small projectile, throwing Symmetra backward several meters and slamming her into a brick wall.

When she comes to, what greets her is not the muted vision she had come to expect of her visor, but rather the full visual and auditory assault she specifically tried to avoid in the field. To make matters worse, while she was briefly unconscious, she’s caught the attention of two such flame-enabled heavies.

Dizzied and overwhelmed, she struggles to her feet, cursing her brain for the sluggish response. Symmetra summons a small mini barrier as she ducks for her photon gun without a moment to spare. The heavies fire their flames on the spot where her head had just been as she tucks and rolls, springing to her feet. The heat follows her and she begins to run, not caring where exactly. Away from the heavies is the only objective at the moment.

She turns and fires several plasma spheres at the slow pursuers, dismayed to see their flames simply disperse the energy on contact. When she turns back toward her path, she skids to a stop at the bay’s edge.

_Why does Talon always seem to fight near water?_

Symmetra takes a deep breath and turns back to face her attackers.

_Surely just a few more moments and the team will regroup. They will notice my absence. They will-_

She throws up another barrier as the glowing intensifies in the heavies’ cannons once more. It's not as big or as sturdy as the one she'd done to save McCree, but it's enough to prevent the omnics from simply walking around it. They advance with a slow, inevitable pace toward her. Sweat rolls down her temple at the thought of throwing herself backward off the berth into the filthy water below without her shields. She taps at her gem, but with the curtain of error messages on her flickering visor, it’s not hard to realize her personal shields cannot be brought back online without significant repair.

Whereas the tongues of flame cannot pass, her own projectiles do so with ease. Her plasma spheres, now aimed at the feet of the heavies, pass seamlessly through her shield and hit their targets. Symmetra tries to focus on damaging the vulnerable ankles of her pursuers. 

They are within meters of the barrier now. Their continuous flames cause the hard light to ripple and warp as the integrity of the shield rapidly degenerates. She has minutes, if not seconds, before one of two things happens: the shield breaks or they cross it.

“Hey, fugly!”

The shout comes from behind the omnics, though neither of them turns at the insult. A flash bang to the back of the head stuns the left one. Its flames sputter out as McCree buries his bullets into its back. Symmetra lets out the breath she’s been holding as Genji dashes in and slices away at the ankles that she’d weakened. The heavy staggers and falls to its knees.

The other heavy, still firing its flamethrower, suddenly stumbles forward another couple of meters, pushing the muzzle of its weapon perilously close to the shield. Symmetra takes another step back, her heel brushing the edge of the concrete.

_These models had not demonstrated any propulsion capabilities before now?_

“Symmetra!” Mercy shouts, flying overhead to her. She soars over the shield, wings flaring with brilliant golden light. “Jump!”

Symmetra winces, but between the visibly warping barrier with a heavy still trudging forward and the disgusting, cold water below, she will take her chances with the winged medic. As she turns, she hears the barrier shatter behind her. The roar of fire follows her as she leaps into the void toward the sea below, crying out as the heat sears her unprotected back.

Mercy catches her with a shout, wrapping her arms around her. Her wings gradually slow their descent toward the water as Symmetra struggles to catch her breath. The air smells rancid.

_Oh heavens, that’s not the air. That’s me._

Symmetra clings to Mercy, trying to avoid impeding the wing joints of her suit as she propels them both skyward, over where Brigitte, McCree, and Genji take down the second heavy together. The heavy’s earlier sudden movement comes to her with sudden clarity.

_Oh, Brigitte must have hit it with her shield..._

They land on a rooftop. Though Mercy tries to absorb the impact, she can't help but cry out at the jolt of her feet hitting the hard surface.

Mercy gently lowers her to her knees, grabbing her staff from its place on her back. "Symmetra, I've got you. Just hold on."

Symmetra sinks onto her heels, trying to sort through the sensations of excruciating pain in her back and the dizzying vertigo of her fall and flight. Mercy kneels, staff in hand. As she directs it toward the burn wound on her back, Symmetra reaches out and clutches her other hand. Mercy doesn't comment; she simply squeezes back.

"They weren't sure where the bomb threw you at first. Your shields stopped transmitting your location. Now I understand why."

"What a casual way to say you thought I was dead," Symmetra muses aloud. She brings her free hand to her mouth, mortified, but Mercy just shakes her head.

"I knew you weren't. I would have known." Mercy glances over her shoulder at the literal firefight below. "And I'm glad you were not hurt irreversibly." 

Symmetra only takes a deep breath and nods as Mercy’s nanites begin their healing process.

"Er, Symmetra, nanites can only heal cells that have been dead less than ten minutes, so your hair…"

Symmetra inhales, a shallow breath that turns into a single, hysterical giggle. “That is fine, Mercy. There are more pressing matters at hand, no?”

For a moment, Mercy frowns at her, but it doesn’t take her long to roll her eyes. She’s as serious and oblivious as ever, but it’s not like Symmetra is one to talk. Mercy’s staff chimes and Symmetra can feel the endorphins flooding her brain, soothing her pain. Even the noise of the wharf-turned-battlefield seems less awful.

“That should patch your shields as well.”

 _Oh. That’s why then._ Symmetra taps her gem and her visor flickers back to life, holding steady at fifty percent efficiency. “Indeed you have. Quite the miracle worker.”

Mercy helps her to her feet with a smile. "Only sometimes. Don't overdo it."

With a sly smile, Symmetra spins a teleporter into existence as Mercy readies her wings for take off. "I'll see to it."

Then Symmetra is halfway across the shipping district in an instant and there is more work to be done.

* * *

_No civilian casualties. Minor team injuries. Minimal structural damage. Objective achieved._

Satya reaches over her shoulder carefully, as if she will find something different than from the last twenty-four times she’s done so. Her fingertips brush down from the roots. Her silken hair transitions to brittle strands to ash crumbling away in her hand. She places her hand back in her lap. Both of her hands have the tell-tale black dust of the small ritual.

_It’s just hair. It could have been worse._

Satya takes a deep breath, inhaling through her nose, and holds the air in her lungs. She stares across the drop-ship to one of the cargo holds. Her eyes water as she tries to make out the writing on the opposite wall only to fail for the twenty-fourth time. Due to familiarity with the ship, she knows it’s a warning about shifting objects and improperly secured straps.

At this distance she cannot read it, especially not with tears gathering on her eyelashes.

Exhaling, Satya looks down at her hands and considers, for the eighteenth time, reactivating her shields. At least then, she would not have to _smell_ the _wrongness_ of what happened. At least then, she might stand a chance at pretending for a little while longer.

Satya squeezes her eyes shut, clenching her fists in her lap. She draws the shock blanket around her a bit tighter.

Her shields are not an option. They’d been noticed by the team and she hurriedly deactivated them in response to Brigitte’s inquiry. After all, they were safe in the drop ship, charting a smooth course back to Gibraltar. _There’s no need for shields_ , Brigitte had said. _We’re safe._

_They are safe perhaps. I am… not._

For the twenty-fifth time, Satya raises her hand to take stock of the damage.

_What am I going to do?_

Instead of her hair, her hand bumps into something warm. The object jerks back at the contact and Satya turns to find Dr. Ziegler sitting next to her.

“I’m sorry, Satya,” Angela says quietly, frozen with her hand next to Satya’s; said hand hovers near her right shoulder, poised to gently tap her. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“You did not,” Satya lies smoothly. _Nothing is more important than making it back to the watch point-_

“I wanted to offer my… condolences,” Angela frowns and shifts awkwardly in her seat. Now she does finally withdraw her hand. “I mean that sincerely, truly. I… am sorry for your loss?”

“No one _died,_ Angela,” Satya scoffs. “It was only my outfit and-”

_My hair._

Satya makes a noise and turns away from Angela, trying to calm herself. The lump in her throat refuses to subside, even as she forces down a whimper and blinks away her tears.

“Hair’s important.”

_Yes, Angela. What is your point?_

“Well, it is to me. I just thought maybe… I don’t mean to bother you, but I’ve been cutting my own hair for years,” Angela begins to babble, as she is prone to do when she is nervous. This realization soothes some of the callous frustration in Satya’s heart. Angela is not the type to pity others, only to offer solutions. Even her blurted story seems to be solutions-oriented.

“-er, right. So, after that, I stopped going to hairdressers and taught myself. So at the very least, if you wanted me to trim the damaged ends-”

“Yes,” Satya blurts, before she can think too hard on it. “Please.”

Angela makes a small squeaking noise, but when she speaks again, her words swell with confidence. “Wonderful, I’ll grab my supplies when we land. Shall we do this in my room?”

Unsure if she’s heard correctly over the rumble of the drop ship, Satya turns to look at her properly. Angela clears her throat, fidgeting with her hands. 

“I didn’t think you wanted the smell in your room.” 

_How thoughtful._ Satya manages a small smile. “You are very considerate, Angela. That will be fine.”

* * *

_This is not fine._

Satya easily disarms in the small blocked off hangar section they call the armory. She packs her photon gun away in its case along with her headset. Her arm is quickly maintained and cleaned. After taking her dress off, she realizes that it’s truly damaged beyond repair.

Satya forces down the wail that rises in her throat. _It’s only fabric._

She folds it neatly and places it next to the rest of her kit.

_And Angela is waiting, isn’t she?_

It pains her to put what remains of her hair up with a small string of hard light but it can’t be helped. She draws the blanket around her shoulders and hurries out of armoury. It’s odd to walk past her room and further down the hall to Angela’s, especially when she wants nothing more than to burrow unto her bed and forget the last six hours.

Angela's door is slightly cracked. Satya knocks anyway.

“Come in, Satya!”

Satya pulls open the sliding door and closes it behind her. Angela turns around, holding a big fluffy blanket in her arms. Her kit lay discarded on a chair in the corner and she’s clad in only a gray sports bra and leggings, but she’s smiling brightly.

“I suppose that would have been awkward if it were not you at the door.” 

“I suppose so.”

Angela lays the fabric in her arms onto her rumpled bed. It’s not a blanket after all, but instead a large fluffy sweater. She places it next to three others and turns to Satya.

“We’re pretty much the same size. I figured you might want something else to wear?” Angela gestures to the sweaters. Satya slips her shoes off and steps forward.

“They look... soft.”

“I thought it might be a comfort?” Angela swallows hard when she realizes Satya is looking at her with confusion. “Is that weird? Oh _gott,_ it _is._ I’m sorry.”

Satya reaches out with her right hand and trails her fingers across the sweaters. They all have a similar texture to them: plush but not too dense or defined. They’re all perfectly weighted, about her size and in colors ranging from muted to cheerful. It's exactly the type of thing Satya wears when she's in a bad mood.

“It is unexpected but appreciated, truly, Angela. I didn’t realize you paid that much attention.” Satya murmurs. _To me of all people..._

Angela turns red. “Yes, well, er… I’m glad it’s not weird. To you, at least. It’s probably still weird. I’m going to go to the bathroom and grab my shears and a towel. Put on a sweater if you want?”

Before Satya can say anything else, Angela ducks into the en-suite bathroom and closes the door behind her. Alone, Satya allows the shock blanket to fall from her shoulders as she peruses the sweaters. After careful deliberation, she selects the wide collared sweater that shares its color with the deep purple of a late sunset. As she slides it over her head and hair bun, its warmth and fragrance envelopes her. It’s impossible to focus on the smell of her burnt hair when she’s surrounded by gentle scents of tropical fabric softener and an undercurrent of mild disinfectant and...

_Is that vanilla? Rose hip tea? What is that other scent-?_

A quiet giggle startles Satya out of her thoughts. She hadn’t heard the bathroom door open. She realizes suddenly that she has the collar and sleeves to her face, breathing deeply. Reluctantly, she lowers her hands and busies herself with smoothing the sweater out.

“You look happy. Does it fit?” Angela asks, a smile in her voice.

“It does. It smells… nice.” Satya winces at the lame description. _Nice_ is a poor descriptor for the melody of pleasant scents the sweater provides. “For a moment, I could no longer smell my hair.”

“That’s great! Let’s fix that in a more permanent way, shall we?” Angela crosses to Satya in the blink of an eye, bends down, grabs the discarded blanket and carries it to the open space in the room. Once it’s spread out, she places a two-step step ladder on top of it. “It’s nothing fancy, but it should do.”

Satya nods, crossing the room. The top step of the ladder is hard and flat but the discomfort is of no consequence for once. She settles onto it and places her hands in her lap.

“A towel to keep the hair off you,” Angela reaches around her shoulders and clips the towel end together just below Satya’s chin. “That should do. Are you ready?”

Satya takes a deep breath. The towel smells just like the sweater and it's soothing. She reaches up and taps the hard light string holding her hair up, allowing it to dissolve into the light from whence it came.

"I am ready."

_As I'll ever be..._

Angela begins by brushing her hair in progressively longer strokes. The motions are smooth and repetitive; Satya finds her mind wandering.

Angela's room looks much like her own. Same gaudy grey and orange walls. She has a cork board above her bedside table; it's covered in old photos and sticky notes. Her bed looks hastily made, as if she hadn't thought to do it before she realized she'd be having company. The grey, black and yellow comforter remind her of a goldfinch- a bird she'd seen in Dorado one winter. It's fitting for Angela—

"So I'm going to cut off the damaged parts first, and then we'll take a look and see what you want me to do with it, alright?"

Satya stops breathing. 

"Satya?"

"Yes, of course. That is logical."

Angela doesn't reply. She doesn't start cutting either.

"I can wait, you know," Angela murmurs. "If you want to sit here until you're ready, that's okay."

Satya lifts the towel to her face and breathes in deeply. "It should not matter so much. It is hair. It grows back. It was no one's fault and still I am so angry… and sad…"

"Can I tell you something that I didn't tell you earlier?"

Satya sense the gravity in her voice, feels the nervous tapping on her shoulders. She reaches a hand up and gently covers Angela's hand. 

"Of course."

"Before the hairdresser incident, while I was still in a group home-"

_Ah, yes, she was orphaned at a young age, wasn't she? Just like myself… except without Vishkar to take her in._

"-a bunch of other girls put a week's worth of gum in my hair while I was sleeping. The next morning a matron shaved it all off with barely a second thought." Angela pauses for a moment. "Never mind that I could have explained how to remove it, given some time. But I was screaming and crying so much that they just held me still and _buzz buzz."_

Her mimicry of the razor does a poor job of concealing the utter pain in her voice.

"I am so sorry, Angela. That sounds awful."

"It was a long time ago."

"It still matters. You were a child." Satya squeezes her hand. "They should not have done that and they should have never let it happen in the first place. If these so-called matrons are still alive, I would like to have some _words._ "

To her surprise, Angela laughs, even if it sounds a bit watery. "Oh goodness, how old do you think I am? They're alive somewhere, I'm sure. One of them even got me a beautiful little wig later in the week, once she realized how distraught I was. Come to think of it, it must have come out of her paycheck. I adored it and the first girl to try and yank it off got punched in the nose. _Anyway—"_

"You sound like the type of child I would have befriended," Satya giggles, finally lowering the towel again.

"A little bullied orphan outcast?"

"We would have made a matching set."

Angela hums thoughtfully. "Maybe that's why I… when I saw your reaction to your hair… I know it's probably not for the same reasons, but I can tell it's important to you on the same level it is to me. We don't have to rush into this, Satya."

"No, I trust you," Satya replies with absolutely certainty. She squeezes Angela's hand one last time, drops the towel and places her hands back into her lap. She straightens up, ready to proceed. "And thank you for trusting me."

Angela makes a small noise of agreement and, after a moment, makes the first cut.

The room is filled with sounds of shear snips and Angela's humming. Satya focuses on the sound of her voice and the feeling of her own breathing.

"That's all of it. About 25 centimeters gone." Angela hands Satya a mirror and holds a second behind her head so she can see. It's considerably shorter but nowhere close to the cropped cut she'd feared.

"That actually looks alright," Satya whispers in surprise.

"Oh, don't worry, it'll look better when I'm done. What did you have in mind?"

"I am no expert on hair shorter than my shoulders. Did _you_ have a style in mind?"

Angela walks around her, arranging her hair around her face and looking for _something._ She circles Satya twice more, muttering to herself.

"What about a bob? Longer in the front, slightly higher than shoulders in the back? Still would cover your neck if you wanted."

Satya looks in the mirror again, trying to visualize it. She fails.

"If you think it fits, I trust your judgement," Satya says finally, smiling in the mirror so Angela can see from behind. She smiles in return.

"I think it would look cute on you!" Angela takes the mirror back. "Well, bobs look cute on anyone. But actually, pretty much anything would look cute on you. Ah, _scheisse,_ I'm still talking, aren't I?"

 _She thinks I'm cute?_ Satya starts giggling, trying and failing to hide it behind her hand.

 _"Hey!_ Stop laughing at me and stop wiggling!" Angela sounds way too flustered to get anything done, but Satya reins in her giggles anyway.

"Angela?" Satya waits for a tiny groan of acknowledgement for continuing. "I think you would look cute in anything, too."

"Thank you," Angela replies in a squeak at least two octaves higher than her normal register.

They're both very quiet after that. Satya tries to imagine what Angela is doing based on the gentle combing and brushing, careful snips, and focused humming. A few times, she comes around Satya's side or front to work on her hair there. The sun begins to sink behind the outbuildings of the watch point, but Angela just turns on a lamp for extra light and keeps going.

"Alright, I'm done!" Angela removes the towel with a flourish. "Ready?"

"Very."

Angela holds out the mirror so Satya can see. "What do you think?"

Satya lifts her hand to feel the soft hair that falls past her shoulders, then reaches behind her to feel the layers there as well. It's light and soft and wondrous.

"I know it's not what you're used to—"

"It's perfect," whispers Satya, staring in awe. The last of the anxious knots in her stomach dissolve. "Angela, it's perfect."

"Oh? Oh, wonderful!" Angela clasps her hands together, delighted. "I'm glad to hear it. Maybe after I'm done being a doctor, I'll open a hair salon."

"Would you ever be _done_ being a doctor?" Satya snorts, standing and stretching to the ceiling. When she finally finishes, Angela is staring at her still, a smile on her face.

"Admiring your work?"

"O-oh, yeah, you look great." Angela looks away sheepishly but even in the room's light, Satya can recognize a light blush.

"We should do this again sometime."

_Oh heavens, did I just say that-_

Angela stares at her in confusion. "I would have thought you'd want to grow it back out."

"Not for a haircut. Well, maybe." Satya shakes her head in disbelief. Her hair swings pleasantly from side to side and it takes a moment to stop the motion. "For your company. To spend time together."

_Why didn't I just stop talking…?_

Angela blinks several times but when she finishes processing, her smile is a gleaming beacon. Satya's heart flutters at the sight.

"Oh, I would like that very much. I, er, yes? I could probably get us the night off after we've debriefed." Angela fiddles nervously with her hands, picking up shears, brushes, and combs. "For dinner?"

Satya nods, not trusting herself to speak.

"There's a little seafood place a few miles into Spain, if you don't mind a night time drive?"

"That sounds lovely, Angela. Let me get dressed." Satya strokes the sleeve of the sweater again, smiling. "I should probably wear my own clothes to dinner, yes?"

"Of course, of course." Angela hugs the armful of hair supplies to her chest. "Don't worry about the sweater."

"Careful there. I may keep it."

"You could. It looks good on you." Angela giggles. "Sorry, I need to stop that."

"For now, perhaps. Just so we can debrief before dinner." Satya takes a step toward the door, then hesitates.

_Did I misinterpret?_

"It's a date?" Angela asks the same question that Satya's thinking.

 _Oh, thank goodness._ Satya grins. "Yes. Yes, it is."

With that, she slips through Angela's door and slides it shut behind her. Satya takes a deep breath, runs her fingers through her hair once more and gives it another shake. The feeling is lovely but nothing is so lovely as the butterflies gathering in her stomach at the thought of dinner with Angela.

 _Nothing today has gone in any way that I had planned._ Satya smiles as she finally heads to her own room for the first time since she'd returned to Gibraltar. _But I think that's quite alright._

**Author's Note:**

> the art is by the lovely [raposabranca](https://raposabranca.tumblr.com/post/622656405233713152/the-second-commission-kinaesthetiq-gave-me-the)!
> 
> I couldn't tell you when and why this idea came to me but I've always thought of Satya treasuring her hair. I think I was probably having a moment of 'wow i wish i had learned that having someone care for your hair is nice before i learned that people grab and touch my hair bc they find it exotic and i got anxiety' and 'man it's been a while since anyone touched my hair feels bad man'. quarantine is a hell of a drug. anyways, i'm always fond of exploring hair as identity and a connection to self. <3
> 
> **[spoiler: angela recalls the following childhood experience: a bunch of other girls in the group home angela lived in as a kid put a fuckton of gum in her hair while she was sleeping. the group mothers buzz her hair off as their solution. this slight is rectified, if only a little bit by one of the mothers getting angela a wig to wear while her hair grows back. angela punches a girl in the nose for trying to fuck with it.]**


End file.
